


The Third Rail

by warriorpoet



Category: American Comedian RPF, Fake News RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-20
Updated: 2010-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warriorpoet/pseuds/warriorpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set circa late-80s. Janeane comes to New York and spends two nights on Jon's couch and one in his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Rail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aybara_max](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aybara_max/gifts).



> Written for Max, my favourite person to stand in lines for things with, who was goodly enough to donate money to charity for my stupid words.

Janeane showed up in New York again without a place to crash.

The call shot Jon awake and he staggered to the phone, fully prepared to verbally eviscerate whoever the fuck was waking him up before noon. She shouted at him before he could open his mouth, her voice strained over airport chatter and a shitty payphone line.

One hour later she was clomping up the stairs to his apartment, a duffle bag dragging behind her.

He waited in the doorway with crossed arms and a smirk until she was two doors away.

"Y'need some help?"

She huffed her hair away from her face and smiled at him sweetly. "Fuck you."

"Oh, that's nice." He picked the bag up when she was one door away and grimaced. "Christ, what's in this thing?"

"My life."

Janeane rubbed the feeling back into her hand while Jon wedged the bag into a space by the couch. 

"Do you want to take my bed – "

"Have you changed the sheets in the last two months?"

Jon thought hard, head cocked to the side and brow furrowed. "I'm not… sure… wait, what month is this? Is it still March?"

"It's April. April 18."

"Shit, really? Then no."

"Couch is fine. Thank you."

She claimed it with her feet propped on the arms and fished a pack of smokes from her jacket pocket.

"So how's LA?" Jon asked.

Janeane looked up at him through the flare of her lighter. "I’m back here, so what does that suggest to you?"

"That great, huh?"

"Yep, more or less."

Jon nodded slowly. He picked up a stray rubber band from the kitchen counter and stretched it over his fingers, firing it into the opposite wall. They both watched as it ricocheted and landed in a dry, empty fish bowl.

He cleared his throat. "So."

"What's new with you?" Janeane asked quickly.

"Uh… I've been on the road a little? I've done a ton of ridiculous auditions. I was seeing this girl for a while – "

"Is Denis in town?"

Jon paused, frowned at her. "Yeah. I guess he's around, somewhere."

"Can we find him and just get fucked up? Like crazy, blind fucked up?"

"Janeane. You just got off a red eye. It's eight in the fucking morning."

"Never stopped us before."

"I have a set tonight. I think he does too."

She broke into a slow smile that set off alarm bells in Jon's head and a thrill crackling up his spine. The ghost of lost nights past.

"Like I said," she laughed. "Never stopped us."

He bargained with her, compromised and made her let him wait at least until after ten to call Denis. Not only would that reduce the likelihood that Jon would get his ass kicked for getting Denis out of bed at a similar ungodly hour to the one Jon had been subjected to, it also meant Jon could try again to get some fucking sleep. 

He left her pouting at him from the couch and went to the closet in his bedroom for an extra blanket. He pulled a pillow from his bed and returned to find her resting with her head against the back of the couch. Eyes drifting closed and cigarette still burning in her fingers. 

He plucked the butt out of her hand and tossed the blanket over her head. 

"Night Janeane."

He fell into bed again before she'd finished calling him a cocksucker.

\--

They slept past noon and when Jon eventually called Denis, there was no answer. Janeane insisted on prowling the neighborhood looking for him. They went to his apartment, just in case he'd buried his phone under something soundproof in a refusal to answer it. They went to a sports bar around the corner from his apartment where he loved to loiter and antagonize Rangers and Yankees fans when he was bored, even when there was no game on. They went to Denis and Jon's favorite record store, then when Denis wasn't there; to the shittier record store four blocks away they only went to if they were desperate. 

Jon finally stopped walking, slumping beside a doorway.

"I fucking quit, man. Can you not just wait a few hours to run into him? And why do you need him? In all this time, you and me could've got drunk, sobered up, and started getting drunk again."

Janeane groaned and threw her hands up in the air. "Fine!"

"Thank you. Jesus."

He grabbed her sleeve and started pulling her in the direction of the sports bar again.

"You aren't much fun sometimes," she muttered.

"And you're a barrel of constant fucking sunshine, sweetheart."

Janeane stopped dragging her feet, ran a few steps to catch up with him, and socked him in the shoulder.

\--

Jon finally found Denis that night. Or, rather, Denis found him, cornered him in the bathroom and hustled him into a stall.

It's how they usually found each other.

Denis slouched against the wall; legs bent at the knees, his cock pressing insistently into Jon's palm. Jon gripped him with two fingers and took his time. 

"Where you been all day?" Jon muttered.

"What?" Denis hissed.

"Janeane showed up on my doorstep this morning, demanding we find you – "

"Really?"

Jon saw the lecherous look in his eyes and felt the way his hips pressed forward. Jon tugged harder and smirked. "Don't flatter yourself."

Denis groaned and tossed his head back, banging on the grimy tile. "Stop talking."

Jon dropped to his knees and was silent.

\--

Painfully nonchalant. That was the only way Jon could describe what he was going for as he left the bathroom a few minutes after Denis. 

Janeane had found him, or Denis had found her, and they were huddled together on an old couch. Drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, not so much as listening as waiting for a pause, a breath, a break in the other's speech where they could take over their own turn to talk. 

Jon planned on slipping away; on letting Janeane get whatever insane idea she had that made them prowl the city all day out of her system. But she caught his eye before he could disappear and frantically waved him over. 

She thumped the couch cushion beside her. "Sit, Jonny boy."

Jon sighed and obeyed. "So, Leary, where the fuck were you all day?"

"Jesus Christ, what are you? Did we get married and you forgot to tell me?" Denis snapped. Then, as an afterthought, "Nice to see you, too, Jon."

Jon snorted. "Right. Yeah."

Denis still hadn't answered the question, but Jon let it go. He didn't think he really cared, anyway.

There was a lull in the conversation that was broken by Janeane's laughter. "Jon, you really know how to bring things to a standstill. I can't believe I'd forgotten that."

"Yeah, that's right. It's been a while since you've seen his set," Denis said.

Jon turned to Janeane. "So, basically you just wanted to find him so you two could gang up on me?"

"That's about right, yeah." 

He smirked. "You happy now?"

She shrugged. "God only knows why, but yeah. I think I am."

As the evening went on, their voices jumping and overlapping, stopping only to laugh or to take a drink, Jon thought he knew exactly how she felt. 

He was barely able to tear himself away to go to the stage and do his twenty minutes, his words already hoarse by the time he got to the microphone.

\--

Janeane's first night back in the city ended with her and Jon weaving along the sidewalk, not even bothering to pretend they could walk a straight line. They stumbled through the walk-up in Jon's building, Jon giving up between the second and third floor with a puppy-like whine and collapsing on the stairs. He insisted he could stay there, it was a fine place to sleep, and Janeane locked her arms around his chest and laughed as she tried to get him to budge just one inch.

They made it inside the apartment and divided into separate rooms with half-waves and mumbled goodnights.

The second night went much the same as the first. But instead of beginning with Jon and Denis and their hands on each other in a bathroom stall, it ended with Jon holding Janeane's hair back in the cramped bathroom of his apartment. She was sick, violently sick, and he'd never seen that happen to her before. In between bouts of nausea she swore the drinks had been spiked with fucking rat poison, she blamed Jon for letting her drink too much, she blamed Denis too. There were promises of future castration to come.

Jon just rolled his eyes and handed her a wet washcloth. She slumped against the wall and told him to leave her there, just throw her corpse out with the trash in the morning.

He went downstairs, to a bodega still open a few blocks away. He brought her back a Sprite and gave her the extra pillow from his bed.

She thanked him weakly, and close to morning when he couldn't sleep, he crept past her in bare feet and up to the roof of the building.

The third night started to fit the pattern. The three of them, huddled backstage, the talking and the drinking and the endless battle to win, to get the last word. Janeane had been burned by the night before; she didn't drink as much, but enough, it was still enough. Jon did too. 

It was Denis's turn for too much. He'd had a bad night, a bad set. He blamed the audience, but because they weren't there to fight back at him, he turned on his friends.

Jon took it. He was used to it. Janeane was too. But Denis was shooting to kill. They took the blows, but it stung. They didn't let it show.

Jon told Denis to leave, shut the fuck up and go home. Sleep it off and they'd see him tomorrow. 

Jon and Janeane held each other upright on the walk to Jon's apartment, venting, talking each other back up, stumbling together. He kissed her cheek, a reassuring joke, and then kissed her mouth when he saw the invitation in her eyes. She dragged him up the stairs, hand in hand.

They stumbled and collapsed together when they reached the bedroom. For once they took it in turns instead of drowning each other out.

Close to morning, when he couldn't sleep, he found his bed empty. He crept to the living room in bare feet and found the couch empty too. His leather jacket was gone. His keys were too.

Janeane was gone, but she'd be back.

Jon went up to the roof.

\--

He saw her as soon as he opened the door, her shoe laces untied and gathered at her feet like baby serpents, a curl of smoke drifting past her eyes.

Jon hesitated, wondering if he should just go somewhere else and hide. But he stepped out onto the roof, kicking the cinderblock that propped the door open into place.

She barely glanced over. "You found me."

"Yeah. Looks like it."

He leaned on the ledge next to her and she tucked her free hand into her jacket sleeve. 

Janeane laughed. "I think I picked up your jacket by accident. We're kind of the same size; it's hard to tell in the dark."

He scoffed and she took another drag on her cigarette before offering it to him. He shook his head.

"Really? That wasn't satisfying enough to warrant a cigarette?"

Jon bit his lip before speaking slowly. "When I smoke, it makes me want to drink. I think if anything it warrants that I should quit drinking."

"Okay," Janeane sighed. "Should we even bother having the whole 'This was a mistake and we'll never speak of it again' conversation? Or can we skip it?"

Jon watched the street for a moment, following the crowd that lingered outside the bar down the block. Just past last call, when nobody wanted to leave. "I think we can skip it," he said finally.

"Tremendous." She flicked the butt over the ledge. A trail of sparks faded into the night. "I'll find somewhere else to crash in the morning – "

"You don't have to go. You can stay."

"No. I should go."

"All right."

Janeane laughed again. "Jesus, Jon, fight me a little harder."

"I have to tell you, you cramp my style. I'm sorry."

"What fucking style? Now that I've seen your style, I know there is no – "

"Hey! What happened to let's never speak of it again?"

"Starting now." She grinned at him.

He chuckled. "I doubt I'm going to remember this in the morning."

"Makes it easier."

"Yeah." A gust of wind blew across the roof and Jon shivered. "Listen, I'm gonna go back – I think you do have my jacket, I couldn't find it – I'm freezing my ass off – "

"Yeah, go, it's fine. I'll be down soon."

He nodded, and went, stepping over the cinderblock and back down the stairs. 

He fell asleep, a heavy, dead-weighted sleep, and in the morning found Janeane sitting on his one square of kitchen counter space. The phone was wedged between her head and shoulder, her bare heels bumping against the cabinet, her notebook spread over her lap with loose pages and crumpled Xerox copies and newspaper clippings slipping out and scattering to the floor as she searched for the phone numbers of old friends. 

Jon scooped up a handful of paper from the dirty linoleum and handed it to her. She smiled and mouthed 'thank you', and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

\--

When Denis asked why Janeane wasn't staying with Jon anymore, Jon just rolled his eyes and said "She tried to stab me with a butter knife. She was pissed at you, but I had to take it."

Denis smirked. "You're good at taking it."

Jon muttered, "Asshole," and Denis lost interest in the subject.

\--

Nothing was amiss. Life went on as normal. The three of them laughed off Denis's slights, and Janeane kept her word of acting like nothing had happened.

Jon was almost disappointed.

He felt like he wanted something, some tension, some disruption. It kept him on his toes, it made his brain work faster, that kind of buried chaos that could collapse things at any minute.

He didn't like to think about why, though.

Instead, he decided this had been a wakeup call, of sorts. A stupid, self-destructive mistake he'd made simply because it was a stupid self-destructive mistake. He had to stop it. He had to focus. Jettison the bullshit cluttering his life, and just focus on his work.

The next time Denis put a move on him, Jon said no. He said it was stupid and pointless, this arrangement, whatever the fuck it was, that they had. It was dysfunctional.

Denis said, "Since when have you been functional?"

"No time like the present!" Jon said with all the false cheer of an infomercial life coach.

Denis looked confused, a little angry. "What the fuck?"

"I don't know," Jon dropped the act. "I just – I don't want to do this anymore. The friends with benefits, or fuckbuddy thing, whatever, I don't know what this is. I just know I'm not really cool with it anymore."

Denis shrugged him off with the slightest trace of bitterness. "All right, man."

Like Jon and Janeane, Jon and Denis were good at pretending like nothing had ever happened.

So Jon continued. He tried to smoke less. He put a lock and chain on the cupboard under the sink he used for a liquor cabinet, and slipped the key on top of the fridge, out of easy reach. He changed his sheets, and tried to get out of bed before nine, no matter how poorly he'd slept the night before.

It at least seemed like being in control.

\--

On the way back from visiting friends in Brooklyn, Denis stretched his legs out into the aisle of the subway car, indifferent when incoming passengers glared at him while climbing over his feet. 

He said, "We should go somewhere."

Janeane glanced and Jon stared.

"Like... where?" Jon's words were swallowed by the distorted buzz of the conductor's announcement and the thud of the doors sliding closed. The train lurched forward, and he slid along the seat. Janeane's elbow connected with his ribs, sharp even through his jacket.

"Ow. Cut it out."

"Stop falling all over me. It's not unexpected that the train is going to start moving at some point. Steel yourself, man."

"Okay, Personal Space Princess," Jon muttered. Denis smirked at him and Jon rolled his eyes. "Where should we go?" he asked again.

"Doesn't matter. We should just go."

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" Janeane said dryly.

"Actually, I was thinking about driving your ass back to LA."

"You'd never do that. That much time in a confined space together? Alone? You're scared you'd kill me or fall in love with me. And either way, you'll be fucked."

Jon watched their reflections in the window as they stared each other down. A jagged scribble of navy blue spray paint hung over Denis's head like a thorny cloud. Jon turned back as Denis half-smiled at Janeane.

"We wouldn't be alone. Jonny would be there."

"Then you're scared you'd fall in love with Jon."

"Yeah? What's to say he wouldn't fall in love with me?"

"Not possible. That's already happened."

Jon's stomach dropped somewhere around his knees and he had to fight back the only way he knew how. He leaned forward and hissed at Denis. "You said you wouldn't tell her!"

There was panic, just briefly, in Denis's eyes before he realized that Jon was joking. "You're the one who's been having your little slumber parties with her. You know you talk in your sleep."

The train lurched to a stop and Janeane looked at Jon, eyebrows flirting with her hairline. "Something you'd like to share?"

He laughed it off, purposely forced and fake; reminding her he wasn't the only one hiding something. "I don't think so."

Janeane turned to the other side, to Denis. He scoffed and slouched further in his seat. 

"Okay." Janeane grinned brightly. She plucked absently at her skirt, arranging it over her knees, poking at a run in her tights. The train moved again, and Jon threw his weight against her. She laughed too loud and fought him off with the thwack of her fists on his leather jacket.

Jon smiled as he sat back. Controlled.

Denis caught his eyes and shook his head, amused.

"We should go somewhere though," Denis said.

Janeane smiled down at her lap. "Yeah. Maybe we should."

Jon saw his reflection in the window lift his shoulders in acquiescence. He watched his friends projected over glass and darkness, Janeane staring down at her lap, picking at her nail polish. Denis slumping down, the height differences between the three of them gone as he tilted his head back against the wall of the car and stared up, into the blue whorls of a graffiti cloud that only Jon could see.

\---

They met for lunch.

Denis was late.

So it was just Jon and Janeane, and Jon kept talking, lost in what he was saying. His mouth ran and stumbled to keep up with the speed of his brain, his brain sprinting to escape the possibility being caught by that thing they weren't going to talk about.

With the way Janeane stared at him, her eyes narrow, her focus intense, he was sure she was right there with him.

Until she interrupted.

"Are you gonna light that?"

"Huh?" Jon's brain kept going and left his mouth behind. He frowned at her, and she gestured to his hand across the table. The unlit cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

"Are you going to light that, or are you just going to wave it around like you're a flag girl? It's driving me crazy."

He stared at the cigarette and curled his fist around it. "You weren't listening to a word I said."

"No, I wasn't, 'cause that was driving me fucking crazy!"

Jon huffed and sat back in the booth. He jammed the cigarette behind his ear and narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm trying to quit."

"Seriously? What's the point?"

"Thanks for your support."

"No, I'm not kidding, what's the point? Health reasons? Tell me Jon, when was the last time you got a clean lungful of air?"

He shrugged. "I'm trying to save money."

She took a drag of her own cigarette, burning down between her fingers. "For what?" she asked, exhaling a blue cloud in his direction. "Weed or booze?"

He half smiled at her. "Rent. I thought I was gonna have a roommate, but she flew the coop on me."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Are you doing it for a girl?"

Jon sat forward again, pulling the unlit smoke from behind his ear and slowly turning it end over end, tapping it on the table. "Why do you care?" he said slowly.

Janeane stared at him. She stared at him for so long that Jon had to look away. 

She reached over and stubbed her cigarette out in a smear of ketchup on his plate. "I don't care. I was just trying to make conversation."

The chilled silence was broken by Denis falling heavily into the booth beside Jon. 

Neither of them had noticed him come in.

"Hey," he said, before he paused and looked from one to the other, observing their shut down expressions. Then he slapped Jon's shoulder. "What the fuck did you do?"

Jon huffed in frustration and threw his head back. "Why's it have to be me?" he asked the ceiling.

Denis answered, "'Cause it usually is… besides Janeane can beat the shit outta me. You can't."

Jon's heart wasn't in it. He just slumped forward, and began absently batting the salt shaker between his hands.

"Okay…" Denis began slowly. "So anyway. There's this guy in my building trying to unload his van for cheap – "

"Is it the delightfully twitchy speed freak from 2B?" Janeane interrupted.

"Yeah."

"Gee, how did I guess that?"

"So I'm thinking of buying it – "

"It's probably a fucking crime scene!" Janeane cried.

"It's cheap," Denis repeated.

"Is it worth the search warrant?"

Jon finally rejoined them, picking the salt shaker up and banging it back down. "What the hell do you want a van for?"

Denis shrugged. "I figured we could sleep in it. When we take our trip."

Jon looked at him, dumbfounded. Since that first offhand mention of the three of them going somewhere, Denis had brought it up a few more times, and then dropped it just as quickly. Jon could've sworn he hadn't heard him say a word about it for at least a couple of weeks. 

He blinked at Denis and shook his head a little. "Still? Again? Really? You're talking about this again?"

"He hasn't stopped talking about it," Janeane said. "Where have you been?"

"We're gonna do this," Denis added.

Jon huffed in derision and awkwardly pulled his legs up onto the seat. He climbed over Denis and jumped out of the booth. 

"I'm outta here. You two can talk this over and figure out what a fucking idiotic idea this is on your own."

Jon didn't turn back as he left. As soon as he was back out on the street, he felt a little stupid.

But he kept on walking.

\--

It's like the universe was punishing him for being a hissy fit throwing douchebag. He was trapped in the purgatory of the packed 1 train stuck between stations. 

It was stuck. It wasn't moving. And he was going to miss his slot.

Jon swore under his breath yet again, and yet again asked the woman next to him if she could give him the time.

"'Bout forty seconds since the last time you asked," she said, her gum snapping beside his ear.

Jon tapped his foot impatiently.

"Fuck," he muttered.

The train didn't move.

\--

He finally got there to find Janeane had taken his stage time.

"Fuck!" Jon cried.

"Hey, don't get shitty with me. You weren't here."

"I'm not getting – I know it's not – fuck." Jon slumped, defeated.

"So, Denis decided to buy that van," Janeane said.

"What?"

"Yeah. He says we're going to Florida. Fuck knows why he picked Florida. His Irish ass does not belong in Florida. But he picked Florida."

Jon sighed. "He probably wants to go to Disney World and kick some poor fucker in a mouse suit in the nuts."

"Well, that'll make it worth it," Janeane laughed. "So are you coming or not?"

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"What? Why wouldn't it be?"

Jon just shook his head.

"What? What aren't you telling me?"

"I'm sure you'll find out sooner or later," Jon mumbled.

Before Janeane could answer, Denis appeared, fresh from the stage. He stopped short when he saw Jon.

"Look who decided to show up."

"Fuck off," Jon snapped.

"We're going to Florida."

"Yeah, I heard."

"So, you in?"

Jon rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could see it now. A couple of weeks that he'd never remember but somehow his friends wouldn't let him forget. He'd say something, the wrong thing, to one of them. Or both of them. Both of them at once. It would be a disaster.

He was tempted to go. Just to see what would happen.

Instead, he stood up, and looked from Denis to Janeane and back to Denis.

He said, "I'm going home."

So he went. He went home and bypassed his apartment completely. He went straight to the roof.

He was there until the sky began to take the light from the street, and the streetlights burned on.

\--

Jon made the mistake of going to Denis's apartment before noon.

Just yet another mistake in that long-established pattern. It's how things usually happened.

The buzzer outside the door of Denis's building was broken; it had been for as long as Jon could remember. The lock on the front door was intermittent, and on this morning it turned with only the slightest pressure.

Jon thought he'd gotten lucky.

He went up the stairs, and down the hallway, past 2B, home of the famed speed freak and former van owner. He got to Denis's door and hammered on it. He thought it was loud enough to wake Denis from the deadest, drunkest sleep.

He'd never know if it was, because Janeane answered the door. Bleary eyed, wearing a Bruins jersey that reached past her knees and slipped off her shoulder, a "What the fuck?" dying on her lips as she saw Jon's face.

"Oh. Hey," she croaked. "He's, um. He's asleep, and – "

"Uh, no, I – it's – " Jon stammered himself into a chuckle. "Wow. This? Really? This I did not see coming."

Janeane shrugged, looking down as she toed the carpet where it came loose at the threshold. "Yeah, I don't know either." She sighed, and glanced up at him with a wry smile. "Did you want to come in?"

Jon laughed. "Fuck no."

Janeane nodded, and bit her lip, like she wanted to say something. He waited. 

She began, "Look, I'm sorry about – "

That was enough for Jon. "No, it's – have a nice trip, okay? I'll see you. Tell Denis I said bye, tell him we'll talk when he's back in town."

Janeane seemed startled. By the time she called out "Okay!", Jon was already pounding down the stairs.

 

\--

He lit the first cigarette outside the building, waiting, thinking Denis might come down to talk to him.

He smoked the second one leaning against the railing around the subway entrance at the end of the block.

He stubbed out the third one only half-smoked, crushed it underneath his boot. He gave up, and went home to bed. He passed out between clean sheets, the lock from his liquor cabinet lying broken on the floor.

\--

By the end of the summer, Denis showed up in New York again. He was alone.

They ran into each other backstage, Jon cornering him outside the bathroom.

"Hey."

"Nice to see you again, Jon."

The formality in Denis's voice made Jon smile in spite of himself. "So, what happened to Janeane? You kill her? Dump her body in the Everglades?"

Denis snorted. "We barely made it out of the Carolinas together. She jumped a plane back to LA weeks ago."

"She'll be back though."

"Yeah. She'll be back."

Jon's smile devolved into a smirk. "You still got your van?"

"Sold it in Miami to pay for a ticket back."

And back to a triumphant grin. "I hate to say I told you so – "

"But you just did."

"I think I did."

"Fucker," Denis hissed, his hand heavy on the back of Jon's neck.

The bathroom door was slammed open, kicked shut, and bolted closed in a series of swift motions.

Jon reached up to grip Denis's shoulders, shoving him down to his knees.

Denis was silent, and Jon muffled his sound against the back of his hand.

Interest in the subject was quickly lost, and they never spoke of it again.


End file.
